


For The Rest Of Our LIves

by Fatebegins



Series: Edited To Add [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kid Fic, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 20:19:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatebegins/pseuds/Fatebegins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek move in together but things just get even more complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For The Rest Of Our LIves

“ _What_?!” Leave it to Derek Hale to ask such an important question right when Stiles is pulling out lasagna from the oven. He nearly drops the steaming pan on his foot. Once he gets the pan on the cooling rack he turns to face his boyfriend. “Shouldn’t we have at least talked about this?”  
  
“ _All_ we do is talk.” Obviously ignoring Stiles’ earlier instruction of one popsicle before dinner, Derek unwraps a second for a delighted Dylan. “Pretty sure this came up somewhere.”  
  
“Moving in with you is a big step.”  
  
“And yet it’s like you’re already living with me.” Derek steps away and opens the fridge. “Case and point.”  
  
Stiles looks past him and can’t help but grin.  
  
It’s _total_ segregation.  
  
On the left hand side, Derek’s things are neatly ordered in rows: seltzer water, beer, lean cuts of beef and vegetables in the crisper. On the right however, is a pitcher of bright red kool aid, pudding cups, _Danimals_ Yogurt, a pan of chocolate fudge, old take out containers and, embarrassingly enough, hot pockets.  
  
“So?” Stiles doesn’t see the point in all this. “I can’t keep food here?”  
  
“Stiles, this is just the tip of the iceberg. Your clothes are in my closet, Dylan’s ‘bath buddies’ are hanging in my shower and Robin has set up camp in my hall closet; you’re living with me.”  
  
Okay, so Stiles had made himself comfortable but he still has his house and he still has --  
  
“A back up. You’re keeping your place as a back up because you don’t trust me, trust us.” Derek glowers, “And that’s bullshit; I love you. I can deal with you 24/7.”  
  
“Ladies and gentlemen, the last romantic.”  
  
“Do you want romance?” Eyes narrowed, Derek steps forward, backs Stiles up against the wall not caring that Dylan is watching the exchange with interest, popsicle melting on the table forgotten. “Roses and chocolate will make you agree to moving in? ‘Cause I can do that.”  
  
“They’d be _nice_ ,” Stiles muses, tilts his head back when Derek kisses his way down his neck, sucks at his pulse point. “But, I have to be responsible, I can’t just think about myself--”  
  
Derek steps away, crosses the kitchen to kneel down in front of Dylan with a bright smile and serious eyes.  
  
“Dyl, I have a very important question to ask you.”  
  
“Daddy?” Oblivious as always, Dylan croons softly, reaching down to smear his sticky fingers through Derek’s dark hair. “Can I have ’nother?”  
  
“Sure you can.” Derek agrees readily and Stiles rolls his eyes. “But before I get you another popsicle, I want to know if you would like to move into Daddy’s house, keep your new room and toys.”  
  
Eyes wide, Dylan looks down at Derek. “Wif you?”  
  
“With Daddy.”  
  
“Yeah!” Dylan whoops happily, jumping off the chair and landing with an oomph on Derek’s chest. “You can read me stories all the time, kay?”  
  
“That settles it,” Derek smirks, standing with Dylan in his arms. He presses a kiss to Dylan’s temple. “We’re on board, are you?”

 

\--DEREK--

  
Whenever Stiles used to come over, Derek would dread dinner because dinner meant it was getting late and Stiles would start sneaking glances at the clock. The condo always felt so empty when they left, and God help him, Derek even missed that giant mutt when the silence got too loud.  
  
But this time it’s different.  
  
This time, as Derek walks Stiles to his ratty old car and straps Dylan into his car seat he knows that they’ll be back, and when they come back it will be for good.  
  
In his line of work, family is a liability. It still shocks Derek just how vulnerable he’s let himself get by loving two other people, it still surprises him how much he doesn’t give a fuck. If anyone messes with Stiles or Dylan he’ll tear them apart; slowly.  
  
“Night.” Stiles murmurs sleepily when Derek rests his forearms against the driver window.  
  
“I’ll be by tomorrow afternoon, help you get started on packing.” Derek brushes his lips over Stiles’, tastes coffee and licorice, and his stomach does a back flip. “I’ll get you moved in by Saturday.”  
  
“But I have to give notice, I can’t just decide to just leave; I have a landlord.”  
  
“Let me handle your landlord.” Derek grins, even as Stiles protests. “My uncle can be very persuasive.”  


 

\--STILES--

  
Moving is stressful.  
  
It’s even more stressful when your supposedly committed and loving boyfriend spends more time playing in empty boxes with your son than he does actually helping.  
  
By noon Stiles is exhausted, covered in sweat and grime, nowhere near done. He regrets not giving more away but when he had packed everything seemed indispensable. Of course, Dylan had insisted he wanted each and every toy to come with them. And thanks to Derek’s presence in their lives this past year, Dylan has _tons_ of toys. The result, Stiles has spent an hour unpacking just teddy bears.  
  
“You want water?” Derek, the bastard, looks like he stepped out of a magazine, ever present combat boots, dark jeans and tee shirt on. It makes it very hard for Stiles to stay annoyed when he looks so delectable. “Dyl’s just about out, I’ll put him down for a nap and then we can tag team this.”  
  
Stiles grumbles a response and flops down on the chair, blatantly ignoring Derek’s asinine rule of no shoes on his modern furniture. If he is going to live here, Derek will just have to get used to change.  
  
Predictably, when Derek comes out five minutes later, Dylan-less and glass of water in hand, his eyes zero in on Stiles feet. “Off.” Derek swats his foot then takes their place, leaning back against the couch. “You’re just laying here, who’s going to unpack all your shit?”  
  
“The man who wanted me to move all my shit in.” Stiles shoots back, closing his eyes. “I’m beat, you do it.”  
  
“So the demands start already?”  
  
Stiles doesn’t respond but a smile tugs at his lips. There’s affection in Derek’s voice, making the cutting words feel like a caress. It’s like Derek is happy that he has someone to nag.  
  
It feels right, being here. Stiles is glad he decided to take this step, it doesn’t matter that the odd fearful looks that Derek used to get are now extended to him, nothing matters but his family, and that includes Derek now.  
  
“Fine, be lazy.” Derek gets to his feet, “But don’t get mad at me when it’s not exactly the way you want it.” Before Derek tackles the first box however he bends down, lips a gentle caress across Stiles’ brow. “I’ll wake you when dinner’s done.”

 

  
\--STILES--

  
All in all, living with Derek isn’t that much different than the way it was before. Except now, Stiles is always awoken by Derek kissing down his neck, arms tight and possessive around his waist. Unlike the way it was with Rafeal, their sex life hasn’t disappeared, it’s gotten better which shouldn't even be possible it was so amazing before. Stiles could write an Ode to Derek’s cock, loves having the heavy weight of it in his hand, the salty taste of it in his mouth. Even better than that, is the feeling of it moving deep inside of him, the way Derek keeps his eyes locked on Stiles’ own as he takes him over and over again.  
  
Derek sports scratch marks down his back constantly and Stiles kisses them in the shower, doesn’t have to rush to get home because he’s already _home_. He’s even gotten Derek to fire up his rarely used Jacuzzi, spent a romantic night wrapped up in Derek’s arms while cheesy music played. It didn’t matter that Derek mocked him for weeks after; Stiles got to live his teen fantasy and he got to experience it with someone he was pretty sure he was going to love forever.  
  
There are other things, too, things Stiles never noticed before he moved in. Derek isn’t always so stoic, he wakes up grumpy, needs at least two cups of coffee to even become coherent and as much as he likes to be a tough guy, he owns all of Taylor Swift’s CDs.  
  
All of those things just make Stiles love him even more.  
  
Every day, the sunlight spills in through the blinds and Stiles wakes with Derek next to him and he feels safe and loved… _wanted_.  
  
“Papa.”  
  
And some times, there are mornings like this where Dylan crawls out of bed obscenely early and tip toes across the hall into their bedroom in his footed pajamas, Robin trailing behind him. The dog’s eyes seem apologetic like even she knows it’s a bad idea to wake Derek up this early on a Sunday.  
  
“Up time, Poppy.” Dylan is adorable even when he’s being a beast, his hair is sticking up in tufts and his teddy bear clenched against his chest. “Hungry.”  
  
Behind him, Derek snuffles in his sleep, burrowing closer to Stiles’ back. Stiles is so grateful they always have the foresight to clean up and get dressed after sex.  
  
“Sh, Daddy‘s sleeping.” Stiles warns his son before attempting to slip out from under Derek’s arm. “Gimme a second.”  
  
“Too late, Daddy is awake.” Derek sits up, mouth set in a cranky line and Stiles laughs at just how similar he looks to Dylan, hair a mess and sleep lines on his cheek. “What does he want?”  
  
“I want Daddy!” Dylan switches course, races over to Derek’s side of the bed and raises his arms plaintively. “I'm hungry! Make me pannacakes.”  
  
“Pancakes it is, runt.”  
  
Another thing that makes Stiles heart catch in his chest: the selfless devotion Derek has with Dylan, the way he looks at his son with such tenderness and love. Stiles will never regret letting Derek step into the role of his son’s other father.  
  
“How about you, Stilinski?”  
  
“Nothing,” Stiles smiles, watching the pair. “You two have a daddy and me breakfast, I’m gonna hang here.”  
  
Derek scowls, mouths _traitor_ over Dylan’s head but leaves all the same.  
  
And not for the first time since he moved in, Stiles is left to go back to sleep. He could get used to this co-parenting thing, he’s never had anyone he could count on but he thinks he can count on Derek.  


 

\---STILES---

  
It’s inevitable but it’s still devastating.  
  
They have their first fight a little over two months after Stiles moves in. It’s over something stupid and little; unimportant but they both get revved up and they both yell, Stiles can’t even remember what started the argument but he knows how it ends, with Derek storming off and slamming the door behind him.  
  
After Derek leaves, Stiles stares after him for several minutes thinking he’ll come back, but he doesn’t. Nearly five minutes later, Stiles turns away from the door and wipes at his eyes miserably. He’s not sure what to do, paces until Dylan jumps into the room from the den and demands a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  
  
Stiles switches to auto pilot, makes the sandwich before he settles down with Dylan to watch cartoons. Derek usually did this, Stiles used the evenings to balance the Flower Shops books.  
  
The sting of tears is back, and Stiles forces himself not to give in to them when three hours later, after Dylan is asleep, Derek still hasn’t returned. It’s the first time he’s missed bath time and Dylan kept asking for him and Stiles had no response.  
  
A little after midnight and Stiles is sitting on the edge of the bed, arms crossed as Derek comes into the room. The older man pauses when he sees him but the hesitation is short lived. Silently, Derek moves to the dresser, pulls out clean underwear and lounge pants.  
  
Stiles has never been one to hold his tongue, and as much as he wants to give the silent treatment he‘s getting back, he can‘t.  
  
“You’re such an asshole.”  
  
Derek stiffens, “Can we do this in the morning? I’m not in the mood for this bullshit.”  
  
“You’re an _asshole_ ,“ Stiles repeats fiercely, “ And Dylan wanted to know why you weren’t there for bath time.”  
  
A low curse and Stiles feels bitter satisfaction, “I didn’t think--”  
  
“You didn’t think what? That he would want to know why the man he calls ‘Daddy’ decided he didn’t want to be around?” Anger is so much easier than the hurt he feels and Stiles grabs onto it with both hands. “This is exactly what I meant about us moving in! You can walk out on me when you’re mad-- you shouldn’t-- but we’re both adults and I can fucking take it. But you know what you can’t do?” His voice is rising and Stiles is shaking. “ You can’t walk out on a f _ucking three year old_ because he doesn‘t understand!”  
  
Flinching like he’s been hit, Derek takes a half step back. The satisfaction Stiles expected to feel doesn’t come, instead the hurt takes over, stripping him of his defenses.  
  
“Stiles,” A little more than a whisper, Derek’s voice is filled with regret. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
Because Stiles feels like he’s going to cry, because he refuses to fall apart, he runs, flees into the safety of his son’s room and locks the door behind him.

 

\--DEREK--

  
Sleep is impossible that night.  
  
Derek just lays there alone in his bed, and feels like the biggest prick in the world. He’d told Stiles to trust him, said he could be counted on and then left after one stupid argument.  
  
It’s what Derek’s always done, he’s never had to think about sticking it out. Every time he fought with Peter or Scott, he’d just leave to cool off. It shouldn’t be that way with his family, he knows that now.  
  
God, he’s a fucking idiot.  
  
Sometime near dawn, Derek’s wakes up. Across the hall he hears noises, Dylan’s baby chatter becoming louder and louder. He’s always been an early riser.

On reflex, Derek gets out of bed, opens the door and encounters Stiles. His eyes are bruised and red, it looks like he didn’t get much sleep either.  
  
Derek feels like scum. “Stiles, I --”  
  
“Daddy!” Dylan exclaims, looking up at him excitedly. “Where’d you go?” He giggles before darting forward to grab Derek’s hand. “Come on, pannacakes, please.”  
  
If only Stiles would forgive him so easily. “Hey Dyl,” Derek swings him up. “Sorry I left last night. It won’t happen again,” He looks at Stiles as he speaks, “Promise.”  


 

\--STILES--

  
Awkward doesn’t even begin to describe the atmosphere of their home.  
  
Sure, Derek’s sorry, Stiles can see he is, but he can’t shake the way he felt when Derek just walked out on them. It was like a horrible glimpse into the future, all of Stiles’ fears becoming reality.  
  
This is exactly why Stiles had been so hesitant to move in with him. He’d learned early on that when you loved someone, depended on them; they left. At least they left him.  
  
Derek can be sorry now but it happened and Stiles can’t forget it.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Stiles jumps at the stove, nearly dropping the spoon into the pasta sauce. He’d been completely lost in his thoughts and hadn’t heard Derek come in.  
  
“So, “ Derek leans against the door frame, “I called Alice and she just left with Dylan for a couple of hours.”  
  
Shock makes him got still, Stiles glares, “What gave you the right to do that?”  
  
“We need to talk.”  
  
“I’ve heard everything you have to say.”  
  
“Exactly.” Derek’s mouth is tight, eyes shuttered. “I fucked up, Stiles, I know I did, but as much as I want this; family isn’t something I’m used to. I’ve never had anyone waiting for me at home, there was never a reason not to walk out and cool off.  
  
“How can I trust you not to do it again?”  
  
Dark eyes hold his own steadily, “I’m telling you I won’t.”  
  
Turning back to the stove, Stiles tries to get himself under control. “I thought you wouldn’t before, but you did. And it was a stupid fight, but you left.”  
  
“One mistake shouldn’t negate a year and a half.” Stiles can feel Derek against his back, hands going to his hips and fingers fanning out to grip possessively. “If you need me to work for your trust again I will.”  
  
Stiles doesn’t know what to say, he knows Derek is still getting used to them but it hurts. Raphael lurks in the back of his mind, and really, he’d been an even bigger sucker back then. He didn’t want to make the same mistake again, especially when it wasn’t just his heart on the line, it was his kid’s as well.  
  
“But Stiles, you can’t do this either." The words are spoken into his neck, Derek’s mouth moving against his skin. “You can’t hold one mistake over my head and not get over it. That can’t be normal.”  
  
“You just said that you don’t know what normal is.” Stiles grumbles.  
  
“I know _our_ normal.” Derek corrects. “I walked out and apologized, it won’t happen again; ball’s in your court.”  
  
“You…” Stiles hates how tiny his voice sounds, God, he’s pathetic. “You can’t do that to me, walk out and not expect me to … Rafael did the same thing. All the people I care about, they leave.”  
  
“I’m not Rafael, and I swear when I find that lowlife he’ll get what’s coming to him.” Derek turns him around abruptly, large hand coming to cup his face with uncustomary gentleness. “I’m not walking out on you.”  
  
“Sometimes,“ Stiles averts his eyes. “It’s hard to believe that.”  
  
“Marry me.”  
  
Shock courses through him, “What?”  
  
“You heard me, marry me, Stilinski.”  
  
“You…you..” And only he would revert back to his horrific stutter at an all important moment such as this. “There’s n-no reason for you--”  
  
“Are you going to make me be a fucking sap?” Derek kisses him hard, then steps away to --Holy shit--go down on one knee. “Pain in the ass, will you make me a very happy man and marry me already?”  
  
“You’re not just asking…?”  
  
Derek rolls his eyes and gets to hi feet, drags Stiles into their dark bedroom.  
  
Stunned, Stiles watches him jerk open his nightstand, produce a velvet box.  
  
“You really want to marry me?”  
  
“What else says forever?”  
  
Emotion hits Stiles, love and happiness strong enough to bring him to his knees. Like a spider monkey, Stiles scrambles over the bed to jump into Derek’s arms, it’s embarrassingly like Dylan’s own moves, but it gets him there quickly and right now, Stiles just needs him.  
  
Trembling just a bit, Stiles grasps Derek’s chin, holds him for a deep, passionate kiss. Always the alpha male, Derek gives as good as he gets, tongue exploring Stiles’ mouth as he pushes them down onto the bed, settles between his widespread legs.  
  
Derek breaks the kiss first, eyes flashing in the dim light, mouth wet and slick and Stiles thinks, mine.  
  
“If you’re making out with me and planning on saying no--”  
  
“ _Yes_ ,” Stiles laughs, pulling him close. “It’s a yes.”  
  



End file.
